


The Kingdom, The Power, and The Glory

by TittyAlways



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Church Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Prayer, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sacrilege, Seduction, Virginity or Celibacy Kink, d/s dynamics, praise and punishment kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittyAlways/pseuds/TittyAlways
Summary: To think he was falling into a demon’s snare ought to have frightened him, dragged him back to reason. But really, thumb pressing into Allen’s mouth alongside his cock, pushing him further, seeing just how much this devil could take, Link was simply entranced.





	The Kingdom, The Power, and The Glory

**Author's Note:**

> IM LATE TO THE PARTY BUT OH MY GOD HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIMMY THE MOST TERRIFYING EXISTENCE ON THIS EARTH. TOO CLEVER, TOO BEAUTIFUL, TOO TALENTED, JUST ABSOLUTELY TOO MUCH POWER I LVOE U AND YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING BUT I CAN ONLY GIVE SO MUCH BLOWS U TEN THOUSAND KISSES HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEEK U HOT BITCH

The chapel was silent, and that was most of the reason Link found himself there. Not for repentance or absolution, but for peace.

For all that God was terrible, he could be kind too. For all that he was stringent, he was welcoming. A father as much as a creator.

Link didn’t feel a shred of warmth from the flagstones, from the wooden pews or the dead-eyed marble of holy idols watching him. Not an ounce from the stations of the cross - fourteen motifs chiseled from the walls, each a depiction of humiliation and pain.

And love, supposedly. Forgiveness.

Link bowed his head, averted his eyes from the too-peaceful visage of a man dying for the sake of many. He clasped his hands before him, resting on the back of the next pew more out of reflex than anything. He wasn’t praying. The cold wood pressed harsh against his knees and Link wondered why he stayed.

For peace, supposedly. For peace, and for quiet. For silence and solitude. People generally came here looking for someone.

Link came because he wanted no one.

That in itself was almost as flagellating as the way he forced himself to kneel, forced his fingers to intertwine and forced his eyes to stay down as a gesture of respect to a God he didn’t wish to speak to. The silence was comforting. Consoling. Absolving.

Link closed his eyes against the sound of quiet feet on cold stones, echoes sent up to the vaulted ceiling to be whispered to every corner of the chapel. Just another soul offering penance, seeking redemption.

He frowned a little when the pews shuddered under a foreign touch, and he found himself praying to God that he would guide his lamb away from Link, or whatever the hell it was the king of heaven and earth wanted to hear. Just let Link have his solitude, his moment of silence.

The subtle give of the kneeler supporting the penance of another body was sign enough to Link that God wasn’t having a good day, but he resolutely kept his eyes closed in _hope._

“Our Father,” came a quiet voice, and Link’s eyes flashed open, “who art in Heaven.”

He lifted his head, kept his face a blank slate of mild surprise when he looked aside at Allen.

The exorcist had his hands clasped in front of his chest, but the cheekily amused grin he shot Link told him it was anything but honest - particularly with the way he finished the line, holding that smile levelled right at Link like a dare, his lips framing the words and his voice sweet with false reverence. _“Hallowed be thy name.”_

“What are you doing here?” was all Link thought to ask, his voice dipped low under the pretense of respect.

Allen’s smile smoothed, turned more amused and genuine, less playfully sardonic while he rested his forearms across the back of the next pew and leaned his cheek on his folded hands. Watching Link’s unmoving expression, he said by way of answer, “I never thought _I’d_ have to go looking for _you.”_

Link glanced away from him, cast his eyes up to the large crucifix watching over them from behind the altar - that peaceful visage in the face of such bitter sacrifice. “Yet here you are,” he said, voice steady and expression cut from marble.

“Here I am,” Allen agreed, and something in the way his voice went thoughtful and gentle made Link want to look back at him. To see his face, read those expressive eyes.

He didn’t though. Link didn’t let himself. He kept his gaze locked on the patient bliss of a man left hanging forever. The Son had risen, but his likeness would stay chiselled from that stone, forever without redemption.

Silence was what he’d come for, but it grated on Link’s ears. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the silence when it came from Allen. The whole reason he’d left, really.

The exorcist would talk and talk, to his friends and acquaintances and people he hardly knew. For fun, for a distraction, simply to prove he _could._ He could talk to anyone, and he would. He _did._ Should he call a name in the cafeteria there would be an answer. A sociable person, and one who liked to prove it.

One who liked to highlight his intentional disregard for Link by speaking to everyone _but_ him.

Link had assumed that Allen would be a loud sleeper too. That he’d snore or mumble, that he’d try to talk to his dreams simply because he _could._

He wasn’t sure why it was so unnerving to find that once the exorcist settled in for the night, back turned to Link on his narrow bed, he was so hauntingly silent that Link was often nervous enough to watch for the careful rise and fall of his shoulders.

It had become a ritual in a way, a penance to the shackles Link had put on Allen. To watch him fall asleep without a word, without a sound, and make sure his next breath always came. Link would fall asleep like that sometimes, watching Allen breathe.

That or the discomfort would get to him, the anxiously unnerving silence, and Link would pick himself up without a sound and seek out the place where silence was meant to be sacred.

And here he was. Allen Walker, in the flesh. Watching Link with patiently expectant eyes, Madonna lips not saying a word.

“Was I hard to find?” Link found himself asking. Not because he cared, but because the silence of the chapel was no longer comforting. There needed to be sound, there needed to be _life,_ and Allen Walker should have been the one to breathe those things into it. But instead he was silent and patient and quiet, and he was watching Link like he was waiting for something.

He laughed a little, and righted his head so he could prop his chin atop his folded hands. “First place I looked,” he stated and Link wondered why that disappointed him.

Was he meant to _want_ to be difficult to find? Surely not - he was meant to be by Walker’s side at all times.

If anything, he should be glad he’d been discovered so easily.

Swallowing back that confusing cocktail of a response, Link said, “Good,” because he wanted it to be true. It _should_ be true. It wasn’t his job to play hard to get.

Walker was the elusive one. Walker was the one who was slipping out of his fingers and out of his sight at any given opportunity. Walker was the one who should be searched for.

But the silence was back, and the unbearable weight of expectation with it. Link felt repelled by it, by the discomfort of not knowing what to say in the face of Allen’s patience. He kept his shoulders tight and his jaw locked, didn’t let a flicker of his uncertainty show. At length, the silence stretching between them, Link asked, “Did you need anything?” and only felt himself breathe easy when Allen’s quiet laugh filled the cold room again.

“A word with God,” he said with such levity that Link couldn’t even pretend to believe him. Allen shuffled on his knees and Link caught his wince of discomfort from the corner of his eye. The exorcist gave up on looking for comfort in that position and sat back on his haunches, hands hanging loosely from the top of the pews and his temple leaned against them so he could continue to regard Link with that patiently curious expression.

“You were gone when I woke up,” he answered honestly this time and Link noted the noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “Knew you’d be upset if you missed out on any of my waking hours,” he added with another grin, just this side of teasing.

“Well,” Link admitted stiffly, eyes on the wound piercing the statue’s ribs, “it _is_ my job.”

“And we can’t let anything interfere with that,” Allen agreed, nodding dutifully.

Link couldn’t help but glance at his face from the corner of his eye, brows bunching in the flutter of his confusion. “Are you mocking me?” he asked, turning to regard the exorcist when he found that grin hadn’t abated.

“Probably not,” Allen answered and smiled a smile that made him look like he belonged up there with those effigies. Saintlike, yet condemned to never see the light of heaven.

Link gritted his teeth and wished he could tell what Allen meant. Wished he knew what Allen was _doing._ Link had no clue why Walker had come looking for him, and a creeping guilt told him he might have an idea if he’d stayed by his side.

Why _had_ Allen woken up?

Link had never seen his sleep disturbed before, and often had to drag the comatose exorcist out of bed every morning. But whatever game Allen was trying to play with him, Link felt no guilt in casting him an unresponsive glance and turning his eyes back to the beatific visage of humanity’s salvation.

Allen belonged up there, with his kind smile and inclination to martyrdom. He’d never make it, of course. For all that he would sacrifice, he would never be recognised. For all the purity of his heart, there was darkness there too. For the angelic fairness of his features, the silver hair that fell to his shoulders and the beauty of his smile, Allen Walker was condemned to fall from grace.

Link doubted the objective had ever been to drag him down too, but he felt a terrible certainty in his heart when he saw the dark edges of Allen’s smile.

Intentionally or otherwise, Link would fall too.

“Say something,” Allen prompted, the twisted corners of his smile disappearing into the words so Link only had his memory and his certainty that it had ever been there at all.

“Why?” was all he could come up with. Creativity wasn’t his forte, and nor was casual conversation. He didn’t know what Allen wanted to _talk_ about.

“Because I want a distraction.”

Link frowned and wondered if he could get away with asking the same question twice. Whatever game Allen was set on playing, the rules almost certainly wouldn’t allow it. He looked at his hands and realised they were still clasped in a facade of prayer. It seemed indecent, somehow. To sit like that while talking to Walker. So Link unwound his fingers from each other, planted his hands on the edge of the seat behind him and lifted himself to sit on the cold, unwelcoming wood.

Allen didn’t bother with propriety - or respect, honestly, but Link didn’t want to bring _religion_ into this, regardless of where they were sitting. But Allen dropped his hands and twisted lithe and smooth while he slipped beneath the backrest of the pew he’d been leaning against.

He sat facing the wrong way with his feet resting by Link’s on the kneeler and his arms draped over the lacquered wood of the backrest - languid, and about as comfortable as one could get in a church.

It frustrated Link to no end and he wished for the hundredth time since embarking on this ordeal that Allen could be a little less _relaxed._

At length, both of them settled and silent, Link realised Allen was still waiting for him to _say something._ So he glanced aside, a small frown furrowing his brow, and scanned his eyes around the chapel for some kind of conversation. “Are you religious?” he asked without thinking, and could have slapped himself. What a dumb question. People didn’t _ask_ that here. You didn’t ask because the answer was either ‘yes’ or some form of blasphemy.

Walker just let his laughter arc through the sanctity of the chapel, his amusement unabashed. It echoed back to them from the rafters twice as rich in mockery, as though the angels were chiming in. _You’re a fool, Howard Link. You’re a damned fool._

Link watched with reigned-in surprise, stifled offence, and wondered how Allen could live so light of heart. His laughter bubbled down to giggles, the sound echoing like hard stone despite how soft it was at the edges. Chin resting on his crossed forearms, slumped over the back of the pew, Allen responded with an amused grin, “Does God care?”

“I think He might,” Link retorted, stiff. Not from offence - it had been a momentary reaction, and one quickly shut down. But there was surprise, certainly. He hadn’t expected that reaction from Allen Walker, but there it was.

Allen’s amusement simmered, settled. “Do _you_ care?” he asked next, and Link was faced once more with the weight of Allen’s expectation.

He didn’t have an answer. The truth was he didn’t care, the fact was he _should,_ and in amongst it all was frustration that Allen could so thoroughly disrupt the peace that was all he had ever bothered to ask God for - and if Allen Walker was so easily able to break God’s will, did that mean Allen was strong?

Or was Link simply that weak?

“Does it matter?” he said, because Allen Walker scared him. He _shook_ Link, made him nervous. Made him uncomfortable with expectations he didn’t know how to fill.

“It might,” Allen said and kicked his foot, sole brushing against the kneeler in a quiet touch of wood. His eyes were on Link’s face, and Link found that now they were locked in conversation there was no real way for him to avoid that gaze without making it painfully obvious.

“Why would it?” Link asked, eyes on the way Allen’s pale fingers tapped absently against the dark wood of the pews. He was floundering in the conversation, in this understanding of things left unsaid. Maybe _that_ was the game. _Who can say the most without saying a single word?_

Link was overcome with the realisation that he might just be winning - and that was in no way a good thing. But Allen’s eyes weren’t moving from his face and Link could only imagine it was because he was reading everything Link didn’t know he was saying, and it made him _nervous._

Allen didn’t say a word, simply watched Link with quiet interest, his fingers tapping silently against that wood. It was like he’d come to a decision when those fingers stilled and he lifted his head. There was some indescribable expression in his eyes and it put Link on edge. Something like amusement, something like expectation, something like patience and at the same time none of those.

Something _devilish,_ and it made Link clench his jaw and swallow back that unwarranted flicker of fear.

Walker wouldn’t _hurt_ him. He couldn’t. But looking in the eyes of a cat about to play with its food, Link couldn’t help the stifled dread that washed over him like a shudder.

Allen cocked his head a little, dropped his hands so they hung lightly from the back of the pew, and his smile held a dangerous secret Link didn’t want to hear. “Does it _bother_ you?” he asked, sly and teasing and everything in between. “Would you like me to pray, Link?” He leaned forward as he spoke, his voice low with anything but reverence.

Link set his jaw against his discomfort, his _nerves,_ and kept his shoulders straight. Didn’t say a word, because it finally felt as though Allen wasn’t waiting for him to. So he just watched Allen, tense and silent, while the exorcist’s grin twisted into that dark smirk Link had only seen hints of before.

He didn’t let himself move, didn’t let his expression betray his cautious alarm when Allen slipped out from under the backrest of the pew, his movements smooth and _natural_ when he sank to his knees in front of Link - between his legs. Link swallowed back the apprehension sitting in his throat, stared Allen down without once giving way to his bafflement.

Allen murmured, low and dangerous with a smirk to match, “Do you want me to _kneel?”_

Link tried not to flinch when Allen’s hand trailed up the sharp curve of his knee, kept his eyes locked with disciplined determination on his pale face. His touch was so light, teasing. Playing, still.

Link had lost their game, but Allen was of a mind that he deserved a reward for winning. The thought had Link’s heart thrumming in his chest and he didn’t dare let himself imagine what the _prize_ might be.

Fingers resting atop Link’s knee, Allen’s eyes flickered down to glance at the contrast of his hand, light and pale against the dark fabric of Link’s slacks. Head tilted casually, like he was considering which flavour of parfait to try, Allen watched his hand while his touch shifted and moved until his elbow was propped on Link’s thigh.

Chin in his hand, Allen didn’t even deign to look up at Link - Link, who was struggling to force his breaths steady, who was blank-faced for all that the roiling mass of apprehension was winding tight into a small ball of panic in his chest.

No, Allen didn’t lift his gaze. Kept his eyes to himself, on the fingers of the red hand he trailed up the inseam of Link’s knee to mirror his previous touch. Link forced himself to look at Allen, forced himself to see the way his pale lashes cast long shadows across his cheeks in the dim light of the chapel. Forced himself to see that, and nothing else.

Not the trail of his fingers playing with the fabric bunched at Link’s knee, and not at the provocative way his lips moved when he mused, quiet and contemplative like he’d forgotten God was there, “Do you want me to kneel to Him, Link? Ask Him forgiveness?”

Link’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, uncertainty and some kind of sick interest making his breath shudder. Like he wanted to see more - like he wanted to watch Allen’s hand creep higher, wanted to see what he would do.

Just what, exactly, did Allen Walker want for his prize?

Thumb tracing up the seam, so painstakingly slow that Link’s breath _caught_ when he passed the mark of his lower thigh, Allen murmured with a hint of dark tease, “Do you want me to worship Him, Link?”

Frustrated and nervous, Link just wanted to _breathe,_ just wanted air in his lungs and didn't know why Allen had to make it so hard. Done with this game, this game Allen was playing with him, Link bit out, “Do whatever you want,” and meant it in a far different way than the gleam in Allen’s eyes seemed to suggest.

“Whatever I want,” he repeated, lips curling into a dark grin.

Link wished, he wished more than anything that Allen would lower his eyes - that he would look back at his hands so Link didn’t have to see the burning sentiment in his face, the _intent._

“Should I?” he murmured, hand inching higher, and Link couldn’t help the way he flinched, leg tensing and twitching away from Allen’s touch in a gesture that looked far too much like an invitation _._ Allen’s expression sank into an indulgent smile, voice teasing when he scolded, “Link,” and tutted as he smoothed his palm over the shameful hardness of Link’s crotch. Low like temptation, a devil’s tongue, Allen leaned closer with his eyes unwavering from Link’s and said, “Are you sure you want that?”

If he didn’t say anything he wouldn’t be party, if he didn’t say anything it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t _involved,_ he wasn’t _playing._ It was Allen, it was all Allen, and let his sins fall on his shoulders.

Let him fall by his own means, if he hadn’t already.

Allen’s hand tightened briefly, teasingly, and Link closed his eyes, clenched his jaw against how it _felt,_ against the heat of Allen’s skin through his pants, and his next exhale shuddered uncertain and bitter through his nose.

“Watch me,” Allen murmured, voice low like reverence and so close it rolled a shudder from the nape of Link’s neck to the base of his spine, breath huffing sharp at the tension of reluctant arousal burning low in his stomach.

Link stayed as he was and the firm line of his lips wavered when Allen cast a short, sharp huff. Frustrated - impatient.

Biting and firm for all that he was quiet, Allen commanded, “Open your eyes,” and Link’s fists clenched on the cold wood of the pew when reflex and shame joined the heat already pooling under Allen’s hand and he immediately obeyed, “and _watch me.”_

Guilt and something like desperation - _fear._ Instinctive fear. _I can do better, I can do better._ Eyes on Allen and he was too close, lips parted like a promise Link didn’t want him to make.

Link didn’t want to look at those lips - didn’t want to look at his dark eyes, and _certainly_ didn’t want to look at his hands. But he couldn’t close his eyes again, _couldn’t._ Not with Allen watching him like that. Not when those sinful lips curled into a pleased smile and he whispered, “Good boy,” with such satisfaction that Link’s next breath came tight in a voiceless whimper.

Coy and smug, Allen smoothed his hand so Link’s erection was framed by his red fingers. His eyes drifted down and Link couldn’t help himself from following his gaze, breath catching in his throat when he was forced to see the evidence of his own arousal.

“You’re such a good boy, Link,” Allen murmured, voice loud in the silence of the church, loud against the shuddering uncertainty of Link’s quiet breaths. He was beautiful, he was so beautiful, his voice low with praise that made Link want to squirm with hateful pleasure.

He might look like an angel, he might look like a saint, but Allen Walker was a demon through and through, and he would undoubtedly drag Link down with him.

Slow and indulgent, Allen smoothed his thumb up the line of Link’s cock and glanced up when he pinched the button of his fly. Smirk teasing, daring Link to stop him, he murmured, “Watch me, Link,” with sin in each word. Greed, pride, lust. Obscene, when he pushed the button through its hole without glancing down.

The relief of pressure on his waist frightened Link, made panic surge and flare. He felt naked already - stripped bare by Allen’s eyes and words and the ease with which he made to undress him.

 _Watch me,_ and Link did, couldn’t force himself to stop. The corner of his mouth twitched, wavered with the uncertainty, and Allen grinned when he lowered the zip tooth by tooth until Link’s erection pressed through the open fly.

Hands warm against Link’s skin, Allen hooked his fingers into the waist of Link’s underpants and Link didn’t make any move to stop him, _couldn’t._ Not when Allen was still pinning him there with his intoxicating eyes, his unrelenting _expectation_ of Link’s obedience.

He wanted it, he wanted it, he wanted it to _stop,_ he _hated it._ But Allen Walker smirked when he peeled back Link’s underwear, when he let Link’s dick sit tall and hard and untouched, and the shame swirling in Link’s gut didn’t even abate from the guilty pleasure that met it when he saw how _pleased_ Allen was with him.

His smile, when he lowered his eyes to the cock in front of him, was _covetous_ \- and the slightest bit teasing. Link caught the darting flick of Allen’s tongue passing between his lips, and his hands trembled when Allen looked back up at his face.

“Have you heard of preemptive absolution?”

Link kept his mouth sealed tight against the desecrating words and felt a wash of dread when Allen’s brows pinched in displeasure. Before he could be scolded, Link shook his head sharply, once, and hated that he loved the way smug pride smoothed that expression from Allen’s beautiful face.

Eyes on Allen’s lips, his torturous, sacrilegious lips when he said, “When you’re going to sin - when you _know_ you’re going to sin… do you ask God for forgiveness?”

 _I don’t sin I don’t sin I don’t sin_ but he _did,_ he did and he _was,_ and was he going to ask God for forgiveness? Was he going to pray? Was he going to _beg?_ Link hated it, he hated Allen right then, hated him for making him dip his head, bow into a stiff, unforgiving nod.

“I want you to confess your sins, Link,” he murmured, words sweet and poisonous and snakelike. “I want to hear you pray.”

The fingers Allen dug against Link’s thigh, nails sharp, told him he wanted an answer - a response. He could close his eyes now - for a moment at least. He couldn't speak, he couldn't _think_ while looking at Allen with his angel’s face so close to Link’s hard dick. Inches away, inches. Link could feel his breath like an ungodly tease. Like _hell._

Licked his dry lips, tried to find his voice. “Which prayer?” His throat was tight, words quiet and unsteady. He wasn't playing, he wasn't playing. He was praying, he was praying, he was _absolving his sins._ This didn’t count, this didn’t count, Allen’s hold on him was too strong and Link was weak he was _so weak._

“Whatever comes to mind,” Allen murmured, smug and coy, and a sharp breath hit the back of Link’s throat when Allen’s deep red fingers, warm and unnaturally hard, curled around the base of his cock.

“Lamb of God,” he choked out reflexively, eyes squeezed shut, and Allen’s quiet laugh ghosted across his length, “you take away the sins of the world.”

“Watch me, Link,” Allen reminded, the tantalising hint of a command in his voice.

Unwilling, unable to stop himself, Link’s eyes fluttered open slowly and his next breath came unsteady when he found Allen watching him, lips parted and waiting less than an inch from the head of Link’s cock.

Lips moving numbly, mindlessly, more reflex than anything, Link prayed, “Have mercy on us.”

Like communion, Allen dipped his head and opened his mouth to partake of Link’s body, his lips parting over the rosy head of his length with holy ceremony.

“Lamb of God,” Link whispered, voice weak and overcome, every muscle in his body burning from how tightly he was wound, “you take away the sins of the world.” Allen slipped lower, took him deeper at a pace so slow and indulgent that Link could make no mistake of the nature of what Allen was doing.

It was for Allen, it was all for Allen, it was what he _wanted._ A dick in his mouth, and Link reciting holy words while he did it.

It was horrid, it was obscene, it was _sacrilegious_ and Link should stop - should have stopped a long time ago, before it got to this. Should have stopped the minute Allen had invited him to play this game.

“Have mercy on us.”

Allen hummed an approving sound, muffled by the way Link’s thickness filled his mouth, and when his slick, hot tongue touched the head of Link’s dick, trailed along the underside of his length, he thought he saw heaven.

“Lamb of god,” Link breathed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before remembering Allen’s orders. He was moving lower, slowly bobbing his head over Link’s cock with indulgent patience, and his tongue traced every inch of skin like he just wanted to _taste_ him. His hand tightened around the base and Link’s shoulders shuddered with a stifled sob of guilty, horrible pleasure when he forced out, “you take away the sins of the world.”

He couldn’t, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t finish it, couldn’t finish the litany while his eyes betrayed him, betrayed his hunger, betrayed the sinful way he followed Allen’s cursed temptation. Jaw tight, swallowing back the words and his shuddering nervous breaths, Link forced himself to look away.

The bottom of his stomach quivered in uncertain hesitation - _fear_ was what he felt, for intentionally disobeying Allen’s orders. Fear and regret and _guilt,_ worse than what he felt for gasping sinful pleasure in the back of his throat, choked off and silenced.

His hands curled tight on his thighs, jaw locked, throat tight and eyes squeezed shut against the view of the high, empty ceiling. Lips uncertain and wavering while Allen’s mouth moved over his length at such a lax, indulgent pace.

And then Allen’s hand - Allen’s hand on his, and shocking for its gentleness as he smoothed Link’s punishing fist, softened the tension curling his short fingernails painfully into his palm.

Link glanced down - he glanced _down,_ he couldn’t _stop_ himself - and Allen’s eyes were on him. Half mast and heavy with want, but filled with a request so much as none of his actions thus far could have been. The way he eased Link’s hand into relaxing, the way he guided it to the back of his head. _Imploring._

Link sucked in a shuddering breath, let his lips part on a silent sigh at the perfect, burning _pleasure_ when Allen’s eyes fell closed like the feathers of angels. He left Link’s hand there, left him there untouched to rest in his soft, silver hair.

Allen’s hand went to Links hip - to steady Link or himself Link couldn’t tell, couldn’t tell for the way Allen sank down under the weight of Link’s hand on his head. Sank down, dipped his head in reverential penance while his tongue wrote sin across the length of Link’s cock and it was bad enough - it was _bad enough,_ until he felt the head of his dick touch the back of Allen’s throat, felt the way Allen recoiled, and recoiled again, and forced himself to take Link _deeper._

The breath punched out of Link’s chest, a whining moan caught behind his locked teeth, and his hand tightened in Allen’s hair in a way he didn’t quite have control over. Not much - not _much,_ but. Enough. Enough for Allen’s throat to close against the head of Link’s dick, enough for a strangled, choked moan to work its way out of Allen’s stuffed mouth, and Link gasped like a chain reaction, canted his hips forwards against his own crumbling will and felt his cock brush against the back of Allen’s throat again.

Another small sound from him, shocked and strangled and overcome, and Link wished it didn’t sound so _good,_ wished the ceilings didn’t carry every sound away and back down for him to hear all over again, but-

But when he unlocked his jaw and loosened his tongue, when he watched the way Allen’s brows pinched equal parts discomfort and determination over his closed eyes, when Link opened his mouth and recited, hand tightening in Allen’s hair, _“Grant us peace,”_ and had the words echoed back to him in a voice so unlike how Link heard himself, so low and hoarse and on the verge of _wrecked…_ It felt like victory.

Momentary, short-lived, and golden for all that it was. A triumph over the serpent, if only for a handful of seconds.

If only for as long as it took for Allen to open up his saintly eyes to look at Link like he _knew_ it was a challenge.

Only for as long as it took for him to hollow his cheeks and take Link in, deeper than before until his throat was working to gag around his cock and tears pricked Allen’s eyes.

The choked, breathless moan that fell abashed from Link’s lips sounded nothing like victory.

It sounded like succumbing and submitting, and the echo of it sounded like God throwing Link’s wanton shame back at him. He breathed unsteadily in the face of his own lust, trembling, hand fisted in Allen’s hair even as Allen eased back.

His mouth was still impossibly hot and tongue too slick and perfect and Link was _burning,_ was burning with pleasure and the hellfire that Allen was tracing across his skin. Link’s eyes flitted like desperation to the image of Christ’s stone face, his blank marble eyes.

The gentle smile he wore no longer looked pennant, no longer looked forgiving. Sardonic and mocking.

Condemning.

Link didn’t want to look down, couldn’t bring himself to look down, because if he did he knew he’d find the same expression on Allen’s sweetly devilish face. Condemnation, and a burning hunger for Link’s eternal soul.

But if it were as simple as closing his eyes it wouldn’t have been such a horrid, _horrid_ temptation. Because Link could still hear all those sounds, could still hear the messy suck of Allen’s mouth working him to unholy pleasure, and the vaulted ceiling of the chapel echoed every sound back to him with obscene clarity, so sick and hot it made a shudder tremble through him.

That was to say nothing of how it _felt,_ and it felt so far beyond words that Link thought he might never speak again. Eyes squeezed shut, a gasp wrenched from his mouth when Allen _sucked,_ loud and lewd and so so _good_ and he _hated_ it, Link hated everything about it and he told himself the hand he fisted in Allen’s hair was punishing, was _damning,_ but the only one burning was Link when he tugged Allen’s head down to swallow more of his cock.

He tried so hard to be angry, to be _furious,_ to turn that hateful rage of ungodly pleasure and self-disgust away from himself and towards the one causing it, wanted to hate Allen as much as Allen must hate Link but he couldn’t _,_ he _couldn’t_. Not with Allen’s eyes closed in single-minded determination, closed in pleasure so Link didn’t have to see his shameless lust.

So he tried to stop himself - stop himself from _feeling,_ and _seeing,_ and close his ears to the hot little whines that built up in Allen’s throat while he worked Link’s dick so slick and tight and _good_ like he knew exactly what Link was feeling, knew exactly what he was _making_ him feel despite Link’s determination to feel nothing _._

God, but if Link were determined he would have succeeded. If he were determined - if he were _half_ as determined as Allen was, believed half as much in what he was trying to do.

Because Allen? Allen was _determined._ He was determined and he was passionate to say the least, and he was intent on pulling pleasure out of Link.

Link hated himself right then for two reasons particularly. For his own lack of dedication to even his own salvation, and for the hot coil of sadistic pleasure that pooled beneath his stomach and into his hard cock at the realisation that what Allen wanted was to make him _come._

Allen pulled back, dragged his slick lips and hot tongue up Link’s length in a gesture so smooth and graceful Link wanted to sob. He _sucked_ as he lifted off Link’s cock, tongue slipping past his lips to lave at Link’s slit like he couldn’t bare to part with the taste of him.

Eyes glazed with the strain of sucking dick, the deep gasp for air Allen heaved in left Link mesmerised. The way his desperate breaths shuddered the long string of spit and precome connecting the head of Link’s cock to his tongue, the overcome haze of his eyes, the way his chest heaved for those deep panting breaths.

Before Link could even swallow back the sudden rush of saliva pooling under his tongue, Allen was sinking back down. Friction-red lips tucked over his teeth, hazy eyes fluttering while he bobbed his head, Allen’s mouth stretched to take Link’s girth while his tongue worked perfect, methodical friction along the underside of his length.

And he kept going, down and down until Link’s breath was catching stilted and overwhelmed in his throat. Allen’s hand came up to grasp Link’s hip, fingers bunching in the fabric of his pants, and Link didn’t know if it was meant to be to steady himself or pull Link deeper. It was too much, too, too much, and Allen kept going down and down until he’d forced his throat open for Link’s cock and his nose was buried against his navel.

Link could feel the heat of his short, stilted breaths, and his fists clenched so tight he knew it would be painful for Allen. Could he even _breathe?_ Against every screaming sensibility, burned from his body by Allen’s sinful determination, Link jerked his wrist at the back of Allen’s head. Forced Allen closer to the base of his cock, just to see if he could.

The breath punched out of him when he _felt_ Allen’s moan, choked and strained, weak from the dick shoved down his throat. The feeling of him struggling to swallow against the forceful intrusion made Link _lose_ it, lifted his hips in a sharp, instinctive jerk to fuck into Allen’s hot little devil mouth.

That strangled sound came out of him again, so disgustingly needy, pleading, _begging,_ that the fire of hateful rage was flooding through Link before he knew what to do with it. Wrenched the hand he had fisted in Allen’s hair, tugged him up Link’s length a few inches before Link gritted his jaw and forced him back down. Smothered Allen’s pained little cry on his cock, rutted his hips up into Allen’s filthy mouth to fuck his dick deeper down his throat.

Allen’s breath huffed out against his navel and the hand he had fisted in Link’s trousers loosened for a moment before curling into a tight, desperate fist.

Link honestly didn’t realise. He was using that cruel, punishing hand he had in Allen’s hair to drag him up Link’s length and force him back down, facefucking that cruel, punishing smirk right off Allen’s saintly lips.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight - Allen’s red cheeks, mouth stretched around Link’s flushed cock. The tears glazing his eyes built up from the strain, from the bruising force of Link fucking up against the back of his throat again and again. They dripped down his cheeks, the frantic sounds that he forced past Link’s choking thickness strangled and cut off with every thrust down into Allen’s throat. His hot little grunts and moans, echoing around the empty, vaulted ceiling of the chapel.

His jaw was lax when Link impulsively brought his hand up to touch his cheek. Just fucking taking everything Link gave him. Tears forced out of his eyes and he was still looking up at Link through damp lashes with that disgusting expression. Hot and hungry and so fucking smug that Link felt he might like to hit him. Might have wanted to strike him across the face, if his dick hadn’t been in his mouth. Spit and precome dribbling down his chin, dripping down Link’s length so slick and overwhelming that all Link could do was force Allen to take him deeper.

Link was losing it, he knew. He was losing his mind, he’d already lost his sanctity. He hated it. He hated it he hated it he _hated_ it. He hated how guilty he felt, how _dirty,_ but the look in Allen’s crying eyes was _daring_ him to stop. The way his tongue never stopped working under Link’s cock, even while he fucked Allen’s mouth senseless.

He couldn’t help the way his hips worked into Walker’s heat, couldn’t help the way he was thrusting into his mouth. Allen was gagging and choking and could probably hardly _breathe,_ but he didn’t even make as though to pull back, didn’t struggle and push for Link to stop and it felt _horrible_ but so so good to just TAKE.

And Allen, Allen just never fucking _quit._ His hands were at Link’s waist, holding him close, never letting him pull too far away. Swallowing down his cock like he couldn’t get enough, his crying eyes squeezed shut to let the strained tears fall down his cheeks. And he just - kept taking _more._ Link forced him down, fucked his hips up into Allen’s hot, wet mouth, and he just pressed further, took him deeper until his lips were at the base of Link’s thick cock, nose pressed against his navel.

He opened his eyes and Link _hated_ him, hated how he could look so eager to have Link use and mistreat him like this, hated how he could look so fucking _lovely_ with a dick in his mouth and tears falling down his red-stained cheeks. He was a mess, sucking at Link’s cock when he could hardly even breathe, and Link was so disgusted, so _angry_ that he tightened his fist in Allen’s hair, held his head down on his dick between his two hands so Allen couldn’t move even if he’d wanted to. Fucked up into him, short and hard and fast without a touch of finesse, Allen’s desperate, frantic little sounds filling the chapel like sin.

That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He just wanted to be used, to be fucked and abused and thrown away like trash. Forsaken by God and those he dragged down to hell with him both. Hated, through and through and through.

Respect had nothing to do with it. And a damn good thing too, because Link, through the fury rising like bile in his throat, didn’t think he could ever look at a greedy little cockslut like Allen Walker with anything more than disgust.

Panic like a wash of fear flooded through him when he felt Allen’s hands clutching at his shirt, scrabbling against him, wrenching at the unrelenting hold Link had on his head.

He let up in an instant, hands going loose in Allen’s hair, and he pulled up off Link’s cock, bruised red lips parted slick when he sucked in a jagged gasp for air. Panting breaths caught on his voice, echoed across the ceiling, and Link’s eyes were mesmerised by the beaded string of spit and precome draped between Allen’s swollen lower lip and the head of Link’s achingly hard cock.

Allen took a moment, or a couple of moments - but not nearly enough for Link to catch his scattered thoughts. His tongue darted out to lick his slick lips, heady eyes sliding open to match Link’s lockjawed stare.

He held it, kept Link locked in place with that heavy, promising gaze as he leaned in close. Loose lips pressed to the head of Link’s cock something gentle, suggestive. Like a kiss, but nothing so sweet as that.

Slowly, slowly, his lips slid over the head of Link’s leaking dick. A hand loosened from the front of Link’s shirt and he shivered when Allen’s hard red fingers curled around the hot base. He blinked, long and slow, and worked his hand up Link’s shaft, the smooth friction of his Innocence rolling hard and unforgiving along his slick length.

Heat pooled in Link’s stomach, pleasure burning under his skin, and he watched with a sick kind of mesmerization as Allen’s bruised mouth stretched around the girth of his cock once more, like even after having his throat bruised and abused, held down to suffocate on Link’s cock, he still wanted more. Gilded tongue of the devil, looking like an angel of sin.

His eyes were hooded with a different kind of pleasure to Link’s when he licked at his slit, drinking down precome like it was something he _needed,_ something he couldn’t get enough of. Shameless and hungry and completely in control of his own wretchedness.

That red hand of God-given Innocence slid along Link’s length, pumped him hard and slow, fingers fluttering a taunting grip. Link had never quite caught his breath, but there was only one thing he needed right then. One thing, after the heat and broken fervour of fucking up into Allen’s mouth, feeling what it felt to have Allen take him - all of him - and have him relish in it.

He needed that addictive heat, that false heaven. He needed to feel it again, and if Allen had already paved his road to Hell, well. Link had already taken steps down that irredeemable path.

Link wouldn’t call it tentative, the hand he placed on Allen’s cheek. Wouldn’t call it kind, or gentle.

Cautious, perhaps.

Curious, almost.

Allen’s heavy eyes fluttered open to catch him, questioning. Not unsure, no. But Link had the feeling something had changed. Some subtle shift that almost left Link in charge.

Almost.

They’d crossed an invisible line a long time ago, but Allen knew that Link knew now that there really was nothing for it but to find the heaven they had the power to make.

“More,” he breathed, voice cracked and hoarse. It was the first thing he’d said, he realised, since praying God’s forgiveness for something which ought not be forgiven.

Allen’s quiet, wordless sound of question was muffled around the heavy leaking head of Link’s cock, but still found its way up to be echoed down by the vaulted ceiling.

It was **hot,** it was. Entrancing. Breathtaking, almost. That needy pitch in his voice, pleading. Begging for Link to give him what he’d already taken. And muffled around Link’s dick like that, like he’d never been taught not to talk with his mouth full.

Fingers wove in his silver hair - firm rather than demanding, commanding rather than punishing.

 _“Deeper,”_ Link enunciated, hard eyes on Allen’s sweet, upturned face. His voice didn’t crack, didn’t waver. Echoed back to him with the surety of someone who would walk this path of damnation he’d found himself on. Regretful, perhaps, but unflinching.

And slowly, slowly, Allen obeyed him. Softened his jaw, kept his eyes on Link while he lowered himself down on Link’s cock. Slick red lips stretched to take his girth, wet mouth stuffed full. No room to swallow all the saliva and precome that had pooled under his tongue, dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

Link’s breath shuddered, eyes locked on the obscene sight. Allen watching him, watching him, wanting to do well. God, Link couldn’t lie. He did _well._ He felt like nothing Link had experienced, felt so good and perverse, so shameless in the mess he made of himself. So shameless in the way he pushed and pushed and _pushed_ until Link knew he’d been beaten, then turned into something docile at the flick of a switch.

It was true, after all, that he didn’t want to use Link.

What he wanted - what Allen had wanted in following Link to the chapel, in prostrating himself before him, in lowering himself, shaming himself, demeaning himself and dragging Link down down down with him…

No, he didn’t want to use Link.

He wanted Link to use him.

And Link, drawing his fingers down Allen’s cheek, feeling his lax jaw, his full mouth. Pressing his thumb against Allen’s firm cheek and feeling his own touch on his cock - having his breath shudder out of his chest, eyes entranced by the filth slipping from the corners of Allen’s lips, Link could imagine he might enjoy using Allen like the horrid, greedy little comeslut he was.

A shaky breath, heavy and unsteady. He wasn’t certain yet, but the way Allen’s tongue was rolling pleasure like seduction over Link’s cock, he could feel himself succumbing. The unwavering focus in his eyes, burning determination like hellfire lickibg under his skin.

And, well. If this was what it felt like to burn, Link couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy it, if only he’d let himself.

He trailed his fingers down his jaw, grazed his thumb across the corner of Allen’s mouth stretched wide around his thick length. Tight, with the way he was sucking at Link’s cock. Sucking him, tasting him, milking pleasure from him like some sort of demon, some sort of incubus.

The way Allen looked at him then, gaze flickering up through damp lashes wanton and _begging,_ really only led Link to believe that assumption.

To think he was falling into a demon’s snare ought to have frightened him, dragged him back to reason. But really, thumb pressing into Allen’s mouth alongside his cock, pushing him further, seeing just how much this devil could take, Link was simply entranced.

And the way Allen took it - took it all, took Link’s cock and his finger, took every painful inch like it was something to be savoured, God, he-

He was losing it, he was losing his _mind._ To the way Allen worked him in his hot, slick mouth, to the way he took everything Link gave him. To that look of blissful determination on his face, selfish and selfless at once. Giving to Link, and taking for himself.

Lips parted without a thought, Link’s eyes caught mesmerised by the way Allen bobbed his head around Link’s cock, his thumb, hard red fingers fluttering firm around his base. His voice was almost unexpected, almost too low, almost too calm. Enchanted, overcome, breathless and severe. “You want to be a good boy,” he said, words clear to the wanton flutter of Allen’s eyes and the silence of God’s witness, “don’t you.”

A choked whine, almost pleading, worked through Allen’s throat - tore the seal of his lips around Link’s cock with a messy sound. He sucked in a frantic breath, squeezed his eyes shut. Sealed his hot, wet mouth around Link’s girth once more and sank deeper onto his hard length like an apology, his head teased by the way Allen’s bruised throat worked against him, tongue smoothing up along his underside.

Carefully, almost tenderly, Link pulled his finger from Allen’s mouth. Brushed his hands back to catch his messy white fringe. Tilted his head back, made him watch Link with that expression of breathless pleasure that ought to be reserved for God himself.

Voice gentle - unwavering and firm and far too kind - Link murmured, eyes cast down on his sinner, “So be good for me, Walker. Be good for me,” he said, his hand curling for a moment into a tight fist in Allen’s fringe. Cruelly painful for half a breath - enough to tear a cry from his full mouth - before Link smoothed his fist, soothed a gentle touch down Allen’s cheek. Quiet, low, soft as the promise of forgiveness, Link breathed, “and I might lessen your punishment.”

Allen’s eyes fell closed. Blissfully pained, almost trepidatious. Almost, were it not for the way his hand tightened around Link’s cock. The way he bobbed his head to swallow his hot length down, nothing but indulgence. Hungry, expectant.

Anticipating.

God, if Link were to believe it he might have thought Allen _wanted_ to be punished. Might have thought the pained whine that pulled from his throat was expectant, pleading. _Desiring._

But for all that Allen pressed his knees together, shifted uncomfortably as though trying to catch his arousal between his tight thighs, he worked Link so hard, so _desperately._ So determined to give him all the pleasure he asked for. Jerking him into his slick mouth, bobbing his head lower and lower even when Link could feel his throat protesting.

The pinched look of lustful hunger, his wanton determination, really was something beautiful. Something that had Link’s head spinning. With how it felt, yes, to have Allen wanting so desperately to bring him to this pleasure. Wanting selfishly to make Link come, to drink him down, to take everything he had and more. In those moments of Allen glancing up from beneath his wet lashes, watching Link’s face, tightening his grip or rolling his tongue in such a way as to tear those tight, pleased grunts from his throat - in those moments Link could almost forgive him, for how beautiful he looked. For how good he felt.

For how hard he tried, to give Link everything he never asked for. Waves on waves of cresting pleasure that had him rocking into Allen’s wet mouth, rolling his hips, a hand on the back of his beautiful, filthy head to hold him close when Link fucked into his mouth.

He was a good boy, really. He was such a good boy. Doing what he was told, doing what Link asked him. Taking him deeper, giving him more. Working for forgiveness neither of them wanted for him.

But, God, he was so good to Link, so _good._ All those desperate, horny little sounds  wrenched from Allen’s throat, the whines and moans that caught on each panted breath while he sucked Link’s cock, jerked him off with that gorgeous red hand.

His white fingers, so soft compared to his Innocence. Calloused and scarred and beautiful for the way they clutched at the loose waist of Link’s open pants, at his shirt.

Blissful, for the way they curled around Link’s length, replaced the warm, smooth rock of his holy left hand.

Link didn’t want to help the cry of beautiful relief that fell from his lips when Allen’s soft human fingers massaged around him. when his silken flower petal lips were kissing to the white skin of his hand, both wrapped around Link’s hot, hard cock.

He’d have missed it, if he let himself fall to the distraction of the pleasure Allen gave him. He’d have missed the way he snuck that red hand of his between his legs. The way he pressed the heel of his Innocence down on his own vile erection. The way his eyes squeezed shut, a sob of desperate pleasure muffled around the cock in his mouth.

And Link, well. Hw couldn’t allow that insolence. The bratty presumptuousness. That Allen, after being promised punishment for his actions, could seek to pleasure himself with Link’s cock in his mouth, eyes scrunched closed and jaw slack in helpless pleasure.

Hardly thinking past the fist he curled in Allens hair to wrench him up off his length, Link lifted his foot from beneath the pew, dug the heel of his shoe against the back of Allen’s hand. Sharp as a reprimand and, from the way he cried out, just the right touch of painful.

“Don’t,” he said, even and heated, stern eyes pinned unforgiving on Allen’s breathless, flushed face, “even,” he pressed, curling his fist tighter in Allen’s hair, pressing his heel harder against his hand, “think about it.”

His lips moved, eyes closed, tears pricking the corners to dash across his temples into his hair, head tilted too far back by Link’s demanding fist to let them fall down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, pleaded, sobbed, his voice weak and almost gone. “I’m sorry, _please,_ I’m _sorry!”_ And still, his hand on Link’s cock. Tight, soft fingers fluttering friction around him, wrist working short and sharp like he couldn’t bear to stop pleasuring Link, not even for a moment.

“You’re going to be punished for this, Walker,” Link reminded, voice dark and calm, severe as a threat. “You know that, don’t you?”

He nodded his head against the fist Link had in his hair, sucked sharp, desperate breaths between his pretty, slick lips.

“This is wrong,” Link murmured, grinding his heel down against the back of Allen’s hand, down against his shamefully hard length, “and you deserve to be punished.”

“I do,” Allen gasped, breathless, voice pitched pleadingly high. The angels caught his words in the rafters, sang them down in echos for Link to hear again and again. _I do I do I do,_ “I _do, please!_ Please, Link-”

“Sir,” Link breathed a correction, lightheaded for the vicious swell of _power._ To have Allen Walker writhing under him, begging him, _desperate._ For _him._

God oh God, God help him but Link _loved_ it.

 _“Please,_ Sir,” Allen sobbed, curled his hand around Link’s cock like he was begging forgiveness, begging for him to give Allen the grace of making Link come. “Please,” he gasped like it was all he knew how to say, “please Sir, please let me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _please!”_

Link tugged his head forwards, the grip in his hair unforgiving. Ruthless. “Open your mouth, Walker,” he breathed, quiet, deadly.

Rushing to obedience, Allen’s lips fell open without a breath of protest. Slick and red, his hot mouth waiting for Link’s cock. Waiting for Link to curl his hand around the base of his dick, fingers tangled with Allen’s, and pull him down with that hand in his hair until Link’s leaking head had pressed between his slack lips, rested on his silk tongue.

Link paused there, heavy eyes on the sight of Allen kneeling between his legs, obediently taking Link’s cock. Enthralled by the all but imperceptible way Allen rolled his tongue beneath Link’s sensitive head, by the slick heat of his mouth. Hot as hell, but so perfect as to be heaven.

What was he _doing?_

God, what was he _doing?_

But Allen was already sinking down onto Link’s thick cock, already taking him in with a quiet, perverse moan. Link couldn’t figure out how to question Allen - couldn’t even question _himself_ for the way he was drowning in the heat of it, in the sound, in the _sensation._

Couldn’t think beyond how good it felt, to have Allen subservient under his hand, mouth on his cock, giving Link all this hateful pleasure he’d never asked for. Couldn’t think beyond rolling his hips into that slick warmth, fucking up into Allen’s mouth with an open-mouthed sigh of building relief.

Having it again after even a few long seconds’ abate wasn’t something Link could have expected - the sudden rush of pleasure, the curling swell of satisfaction. God, this was what he wanted. Allen taking him as deep as he could without choking, sucking and licking at his length. He was addicted, already. Beyond salvation, for the way he was mindlessly fucking up into Allen’s gorgeous hot perfect mouth and God, _God_ it was all crashing back over him, rocking through him a hundred - a _thousand_ times worse.

The silence of the chapel had been ruptured by their harsh breaths - Link’s desperate gasps, Allen’s muffled moans. The slick sound of Allen sucking at his cock, the rustle of Link’s clothes against the lacquered wood of the pew for the way he fucked his hard dick into Allen’s perfect mouth.

His hands curled into Allen’s hair, held him in place. Eyes closed for a blissful moment while he fucked up into him, indulging in the rapturous sensation of Allen’s mouth, Link’s lips parted for a short, choked moan.

Unable to stand not looking at Allen’s perfect, horny face for long, Link’s heavy eyes slid open to watch him. Watched his desperate, wanton expression, the way he clutched at Link’s hips like the thought of losing him was abhorrent. Like the thought of missing the way Link fucked his mouth was unbearable.

Link, God. Link was just as bad, just as damned. Using him, dragging Allen down onto his cock, hardly giving him time to lap up the precome creaming from the head of his cock. Lost to the sensation building like waves of pleasure in the pit of his stomach, a groan dragged from his throat when he felt it drip from Allen’s lips. Mixed spit and precome leaking down the underside of his dick despite how Allen licked and sucked at him, desperate to catch every last drop.

He could feel it, Link could _feel_ it - could feel it like an insurmountable wave of white-wash pleasure building in him, building and building like bliss from the way Allen sucked at him, the way he forced his throat to take Link’s cock, the way he worked his tongue into Link’s leaking slit even while Link used and abused his mouth, fucked him so hard and desperate he hardly had time to catch a breath.

More and more and _more_ , and Link could feel himself coming, couldn’t _stop_ it. God, it was something else, something beyond anything he’d experienced.

It felt like rapture.

It felt like Heaven.

He had a hand fisted in Allen’s hair and he was coming he was coming and it felt so _good,_ it felt beyond perfect, and to savour it he didn’t know if he wanted to drag Allen off his cock or pull him down so Link could fuck into the perfect heat of his mouth. But it didn’t matter - it didn’t _matter,_ because before he could do either Allen was pulling off his dick with spit and precome strung between his slick red lips and the rosy head of Link’s cock, and it was _obscene,_ it was so gorgeous and filthy and beautiful to see Allen in such a state, to see him red-cheeked and glaze-eyed from sucking Link’s dick in the chapel, the wet smack of his lips echoing back to them from the vaulted ceiling, and Link was _coming._

Before Allen could gasp a breath and sink back down Link was coming on his face, his cheeks, past the pretty lips he kept hungrily open for everything Link had. Again and again, waves of beautiful, twisted pleasure pulsed through him, streaked across Allen’s angelic face.

And, God, there was so _much._ Dribbling down his cheeks, dripping from his lips, down his chin, liquid pearls of Link’s shame pooled in Allen's mouth. Sitting there on his tongue.

Allen watched him with narrow, satisfied eyes, mouth held open for Link to see - a show of his sin.

Before Allen could close his mouth - before he could swallow it down, take that sinfully beautiful sight away, Link reached out and hooked his thumb into Allen’s mouth. Held him there, despite the white come that overflowed from his lips, spilled messy down his chin. Kept that saintly image still for a moment more before Allen closed his lips around Link’s thumb.

Thoughts gone from his mind in the resounding silence of his lingering pleasure, breathless for it, Link found himself murmuring, his own words reaching his dull ears moments after they’d been spoken, “Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil.”

And Link, Link, Link could _feel_ Allen’s tongue, could feel him working at him even as he swallowed the evidence of Link’s pleasure, as though the finger in his mouth was Link’s cock. Like he still wanted more because he _did,_ because he was such a slut for it.

God, for once he actually looked the part, his face streaked with come and his lips slick and bruised red from sucking Link’s dick.

Pulling his hand from Allen’s lips, Link dragged his fingertips through the filth that had spilled from his mouth. Smeared his gorgeous, sinful shame across Allen’s chin, his cheeks, and murmured, “My cup runneth over.”

Allen reached up, his Innocence slipping easily from under the slackened reprimand of Link’s heel, gently took Link’s wrist. His touch almost tender, his eyes almost kind. He pulled Link’s fingers away from his face, and Link could only watch - could only look and watch as he moved to straddle Link on the pew. To kneel over him.

He parted his beautiful, filthy lips, looked down at Link with something like lustful satisfaction. “Surely,” he breathed, somehow both rough and gentle, kind and taunting, a devil and an angel both in this tragic boy who knelt over Link as though through losing, he had won, “goodness and mercy shall follow me.”

He trailed his fingers along Link’s jaw, kind and pliant and human. Tilted his chin, forced him to look up while Allen smiled down at him like a devil. Like a saint.

“All the days of my life,” he murmured, his dark eyes entranced, almost, with the way he had Link looking up at him.

He rolled his hips forwards, slow and exploratory. Link could feel how hard Allen was, could feel him pressed up against Link’s abdomen.

A breath away from being overcome,and still so far from his own mind, Link didn’t know how to protest when Allen leaned down to catch his untainted lips in a kiss that tasted of sinful passion - his sin, slick and warm on Allen’s lips. Allen’s passion, slow and hot, burning in the way he rolled his body against Link’s, the way he rocked his hips against Link’s stomach.

Grinding against him, for lust and greed.

And Link, lost to it, lost to the way it felt to have Allen’s lips on his, so have him undulating in his lap, so lithe and gorgeous. Lost to the echos of fathomless pleasure still shuddering in his fingertips, Link could only breath a satisfied, hungry groan into Allen’s filthy mouth. Because he ought to have known all along that he didn’t have the strength to resist this beautiful fucking demon.

Not even when he was pulling back from Link, hot lips moving a breath away, the shameless sacrilege of his words burning like fire under Link’s skin when he finished the verse.

“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Link didn’t want to help the way his hands slid up the back of Allen’s shirt. Couldn’t bring himself to hate the breathy, whining moan that fell from Allen’s bruised lips when Link dragged his fingernails down his gorgeous, tense back. Almost loved the way Allen arched against him, rolled his hips, fucked against Link’s stomach with his fingers scraping back into Link’s hair, panted breaths falling an inch from Link’s lips.

It was _mesmerising,_ to have Allen like this. Beautiful, destructive, wanton. A slave to his base nature. A slave to the devil inside him.

And that came with such a terrifying freedom.

A freedom he’d let Link taste, indulge. One that thrilled him to his core with equal parts terror and desire.

He hesitated for a long moment at the small of Allen’s back. Fingers dragging against his warm skin, thumbs rolling indulgent circles at his waist until Allen rocked hard up against him, head falling back when he worked a hand between his tented crotch and Link’s stomach.

A pleading groan fell weak from Allen’s abused throat when he ground up against his hand, massaged the heel of it down onto his hard cock. So beautifully shameless, so desperate and needy, Link found it all but easy to scrape his fingers down Allen’s back to grab his ass through those pants. Obsessive, hard, kneading his hands into Allen’s cheeks, head tilted up to breathe something not quite a kiss against the corner of Allen’s jaw.

Allen was vocal in his pleasure, hot little groans and whines falling from his lips while he ground his hips beneath Link’s hand, against his stomach, against his own punishing grip. A breathless, gasping mess on Link’s lap, so hot and needy.

God, Link would have thought Allen might just come like that, rolling so perversely against him, moans coming high and fast, desperation pitched into his voice. Trailed his hands down Allen’s thighs, back up to his ass. Feeling him up, ashamedly learning the shape of him in this stolen moment where it was almost okay to touch him. Firm legs, tight ass, so much of his body that Link hated to want his hands on.

God, _God_ he _hated_ it. He hated it, he wanted it, he wanted to set his teeth against Allen’s throat, wanted to spread his slender legs and drag that pert little ass down onto his cock. Link _hated_ what Allen had done to him, and he wanted to give that shameless demon every damn thing he asked for so selfishly. Give it to him again and again, hard and harder until he was sobbing, until he was apologising over and over, begging Link’s forgiveness.

But when Allen took Link’s hand from his ass, guided his touch around his hip to his fly and pressed his hand against the shape of his straining arousal, well. Link was struck with the difference between shameful fantasy and shameless reality. The sharp jut of Allen’s cock against his hand was almost too real and Link found quite suddenly that he didn’t know what to _do._ He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to say no like all his instincts were telling him, but his instincts came in a bit late and despite it all he _wanted_ to.

It was different though, god. It was _different._ Because it was Link’s choice, it was Link’s initiative. This time, pressing his hand unassisted against Allen’s cock and wondering if he had the strength to grind his hand down and give Allen back everything he’d given Link, it was on him to move.

The thought crossed his mind briefly that this was the sinful temptation, that he was being tested, that he ought to have the strength to cast Allen aside and follow the path of righteousness. But that moment of opportunity had passed a long time ago, and Link had done nothing to save himself then. He was already condemned, proof in the shame that burned in his cheeks and gut.

The surge of bitter frustration that curled his hand tighter against Allen’s arousal was evidence of how he’d failed the Lord, and the wave of dark satisfaction that crested in him at Allen’s blissfully pained moan was the demon that Allen’s sin had birthed in him.

As clear as the come on Allen Walker’s face, Link had already caved to this temptation. The inaction he’d chosen to take from the beginning was his primal and utter downfall, and now he had no _reason_ to stop.

Allen had shown him that, hadn’t he? How good it was to give, how good it felt to take and take and _take._

A hand on Allen’s ass, the other grinding down experimental pressure against Allen’s erection, Link breathed a heated sigh against Allen’s throat when his helpless whine filled the empty chapel. His hips rolled against Link, fucked up against his hand, trying for even more.

“Please,” he gasped, a hand fisted in Link’s collar. “More, _please!”_

Lips moving against Allen’s throat, Link murmured, his voice almost unaffected but for the way it dropped low, “Please, who?”

“Please, Sir,” Allen whimpered, let out a short cry when Link massaged his hand down against his hard cock. His whole body rolled against Link’s, wired with obscene desire, untempered lust.

Link kneaded his fingers against Allen’s ass, trailed his hand up his back. Curled a grip around the back of Allen’s neck and pulled him _down_ until he was sitting on Link’s lap, thighs bracketing Link’s hips. Hands firm, touch steady and unrelenting, he murmured against the shell of Allen’s ear, “Do you really think you deserve that, Walker?”

His breath shuddered against Link’s cheek in a quiet whine, grinding his hips down against Link’s touch.

Rolling his hand in a fluttering grip around Allen’s arousal, his grip tight enough to verge on punishing, Link murmured, his voice almost ambivalent, “I don’t think you do, Walker. I don’t think you deserve it at _all.”_

Allen’s breath caught, then shuddered, his body trembling on Link’s lap. Wound so tight Link thought he might break, his breaths coming short and sharp. Fingers dug sharp and cruel into Link’s shoulders, clinging to him. Desperate. Single-minded in his perverse desire.

“But,” Link considered, loosening his hold on Allen’s dick to a quiet, pleading sob, a tightened grip on his shoulders, “even if you didn’t get it from me,” he said, quiet as even-tempered damnation, the way his fingers blindly worked at the button of Allen’s fly working counter to whatever hypotheticals he was talking, “I’m sure you have one or two or twenty lined up to give you what you want. _Whatever_ you want.” He peeled down Allen’s fly, felt the way his lithe body trembled when Link’s fingers traced across the velvet-soft heat of his erection.

A quiet cry fell from bitten lips when Link pulled Allen’s overwarm cock from his pants, his arousal almost delicate for how small it looked in Link’s hand. Hard, and soft as silk, Link rolled his grip up Allen’s length until his fist slipped closed over his slick head, Link’s fingers already smeared with his messy precome.

“How many people,” he breathed, mesmerised with the way Allen mewled, dropped his head on Link’s shoulder, fucked up into his hand like he was so desperate to come that he had no patience for the way Link handled him, “have you whored yourself out to?”

A choked cry cut off in Allen’s throat, and his dick almost twitched in Link’s grip, precome dripping slick between his fingers when he dragged his hand back down to Allen’s flushed base.

“I should have known you were like this,” he murmured, arm slipping down Allen’s back to curl around his waist in a half-successful effort to keep him still.

Working Allen’s slim cock, he found a quick, light rhythm with a flick of his wrist that had Allen twisting and writhing, pleading moans echoing unabashed from the arched ceiling.

“I’m not even surprised,” he said, almost sneered, words bitten against Allen’s neck when he dropped his head to Link’s shoulder. Clutching him, clinging to him, whines verging on sobs torn from his throat. Link’s fingers dug into Allen’s waist, harsh and cruel. Biting. “You’ve probably slept with Kanda,” he breathed, jaw tight, hand curled almost punishing around his cock, “haven’t you.”

A long shudder rocked through Allen, had him arching against Link with a silent moan caught high and hoarse in his throat. Like the idea of that turned him on - like the _truth_ of it did. Like hearing the reality of how he’d whored himself out was so thrilling that it had him rolling his hips into Link’s hand, fucking into Link’s too-tight grip.

“I’m right,” he hissed, scathing, “aren’t I, Walker?”

All he managed to get out was a messy, sobbing, “Y…ye-” before he cut off in a long, tight moan, fingers sharp in Link’s shoulders and his head thrown back, body arched to press against Link’s.

 _“God,”_ he breathed, locked his jaw against the surging need to dig his teeth against Allen’s skin, bite his neck. Bruise him, hurt him. He didn’t know _why,_ he didn’t know why he _didn’t know why._ Through his teeth, jerking Allen short and fast and a breath too hard, he gritted, “And Bookman Junior?”

His answer was a choked-off, toe-curled whine that Allen muffled into Link’s shoulder, hips working sharp and messy, trying to keep up with the quick, loose pace Link flicked across his length.

“Don’t tell me,” Link growled, lips twisting against Allen’s neck in a reaction as filthy as the mess of hateful, aroused disgust churning in the pit of his stomach, “a whore like you,” he said, couldn’t help the way he opened his mouth, nipped his teeth against the silken velvet of Allen’s throat before spitting, “got to the Chief’s sister.”

 _“N-no!”_ Allen cried on a desperate sob, keening and whining and twisting over Link, under his hands. Tilting his neck as though to bare his throat to Link’s teeth even when he tried to defend himself with messy, half-abandoned phrases like, “I didn’t, I _wouldn’t-”_ only to be cut off by his own desperate gasp for breath.

Link let his lips rest over the sharp bruise he’d bitten onto Allen’s skin in something quite unlike a kiss, a scathing laugh falling like the breath of a threat across Allen’s throat when he murmured, “So, even someone like you has lines he won’t cross.”

His wrist was aching, cramping from the frantic pace, but Link imagined taking his hand from Allen’s cock would result in only a vocal outcry, brattish demands for Link to pleasure this messy, whining boy. And God, he tried to ignore the discomfort with way Allen’s fervent movement on his lap had him rolling his hips unwilling and mesmerised beneath his ass, but Christ that was just as bad, wasn’t it?

He hated this, he _hated_ this. He hated that Allen could have him like this, like _that._ That Allen could put that wicked mouth of his to play and get whatever he damn well pleased. Link hated that he was _falling_ for it, that he was just some mindless piece in whatever unconceivable game Allen was playing.

And he was angry - he was goddamn _furious_ that even after all that, even after his come had started to dry on Allen’s cheeks and Allen’s cock was in Link’s hand and his awful, tight little ass was moving in his lap, Link hated - he _hated_ that Allen could make him want _more._

Seething, biting, that bitter surge of fury scalding his tongue, Link growled beneath Allen’s ear, “So the question is, what do you want me for? Need even more to satisfy you?”

Allen’s tight little moans were tearing from him with each shuddering breath, his hot whines pitched against Link’s ear while he worked his fist over Allen’s slick length, precome smeared over his wet, rosy head, dribbled across Link’s knuckles. Warm and filthy, and Link rolled his hips against Allen’s ass, wondered if something like this could make him hard again.

“Or maybe,” he breathed, fervent, blood pounding in his veins, breaths coming faster with how Allen arched and twisted and writhed against him, clutched him, fucked into his hand, the high sobs of his overcome pleasure filling the silent chapel, “they caught on,” Link said, dug his fingers against Allen’s waist, his teeth against his throat. Punishing, brutal for a moment. “Found out what you really are,” he panted, his rolling hips matching each of Allen’s messy, mindless thrusts. His hand curled tighter around Allen’s cock for a moment and he cried out. Desperate, pleading. “A hateful,” he murmured, lips moving torturous against Allen’s jaw while he whispered scathing shame, “manipulative,” scornful distaste, “snake.”

Allen cried out, sobbed pained and needy, the fresh dribble of precome that fell across Link’s slick knuckles enough to tell Link just how vile Allen was, just how much he got off on being disgraced, demeaned, debased.

“You’re disgusting, Walker,” Link sneered, Allen’s moans coming short, sharp, quick. He was going to come, Link could feel it. He was going to come for the way Link hated him. “If you’re looking for someone to love you,” he breathed, horrid and cold, loving that he could say it and hating hating _hating_ that he was saying it because it got Allen so fucking hot, “I doubt you’ll ever find it like this.”

The cry that tore from his lips was devastating, distraught. His hard cock twitched in Link’s harsh grip and Allen’s entire body locked tight, his come pulsing from between Link’s fingers, dripping down his hand, staining his shirt. Allen was so vocal through the way Link jerked him through it, jolting in Link’s lap with each crashing wave of his orgasm, loud moans sinking to whines, to whimpers, until his head was resting on Link’s shoulder, hot breaths panted across his collarbones, and Allen was flinching and twisting under his touch, had to catch Link’s wrist in one of his slender hands to make him stop.

It was… a moment Link didn’t know how to frame, and was only certain that he didn’t _want_ to. He loosened his hold around Allen’s waist, uncurled his fingers from Allen’s messy cock. His hands came to rest atop Allen’s thighs, light and a touch awkward. He didn’t know where to put them, didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know what he expected, but he might have been agreeable to Allen slipping off his lap, letting Link stand and do up his pants, and leave with a stiff nod.

But Allen was slumped over Link, head resting on his shoulders, arms draped around his neck in something quite unlike an embrace, his breaths slowly steadying, his slight body hot and heavy over Link’s. Uncomfortably so. Stifling.

It was a moment that took too long to pass, and after the stifling stretch of vague silence, Allen’s lingering cries gone from the echoing walls, he murmured without moving, his quiet words fanning across the nervous bob of Link’s throat, “Do you hate me, Link?”

He didn’t say _yes,_ despite that he thought it might have been true. In that moment, at least, it was likely true. But it wasn’t what he wanted to say, so he didn’t say anything. Because right then more than answering Allen’s pointless, blase question, Link wanted to bite through his tongue that he might never speak. He never wanted to open his mouth again and give Allen words he wanted to hear.

He hated it, felt sick because they were words he _wanted to say,_ and they were the same words Allen wanted to hear.

He might have hated Allen right then, but he wouldn’t say it. Because Allen, perversely, would somehow be _thrilled_ to know he’d incited such a feeling in him.

“You don’t have to love me,” Allen murmured once Link’s silence had stretched too long. Pushed back, expression somehow clear. Considering. Ruminant. “You don’t even have to like me,” he said, reached up to brush his fingers across Link’s cheek despite how Link turned his head away from the gentle, almost harmless touch. “I just need you to want me.”

Link kept his head turned, gaze pinned on the Via Crusis, the ninth station. _He_ _falls for the third time,_ Link thought, and didn’t let himself think of anything else. Didn’t let himself think of Allen, or the warmth of his body weighing Link down like lead. Didn’t let himself think of hating him, or loving him, or _wanting_ him.

He couldn’t meet Allen’s eyes. He _couldn’t._ Because the all too familiar expectancy of Allen’s silence scared him. He was cowardly, he was scared, and if he did then Allen might ask something of him. Allen might want something from him. Something more than what he’d already taken. Something more than what Link had already given.

“Link,” Allen murmured, gentle, forgiving. Like forgiveness was his to give. And Link should have known by then, should have know how weak he was to Allen’s desires. Let himself be turned by the fingers Allen placed on his chin, let his gaze flicker up to catch the question in Allen’s silver eyes.

It wasn’t a question Link knew how to interpret. Wasn’t one he knew how to answer.

Not until Allen’s head tilted and he leaned in, lashes fluttering soft as angels’ wings, his lips as saintly as a rose.

Link turned his face away so Allen’s lips skated across his cheek, nausea quivering in his stomach. Disgust and regret made for a bitter cocktail, and he knew he had to speak. Now, quickly, before Allen took it upon himself to draw more conclusions.

“You’re going to Hell,” he muttered, blank eyes on his hand as he wiped come from his fingers onto the thigh of Allen’s pants. Link might have liked to leave, might have liked to never match Allen’s quicksilver eyes again. But Allen sat unmovable over him, hands loose on his shoulders. Pinning Link in place while he caught his breath, body weighed heavy with their sin.

 _You’re going to Hell,_ he said, because he couldn’t say what he meant.

He couldn’t say it. As true as it was, he _couldn’t say it._

He couldn’t look Allen in the eye, the demon that had sealed his fate. He couldn't look Allen in the eye and admit he’d won.

He couldn’t look Allen in the eye and say _I’m going to Hell,_ because somewhere deep beneath his crawling skin Link’s sabotaged pride rioted, and he didn’t believe that was something Allen could understand.

A despicable, shameless man like Allen Walker couldn’t possibly understand the sin of pride.

Not when he was so enamoured by lust, so taken with greed.

Not when he could debase himself to _this -_ this twisted, filthy thing on Link’s lap - and still have the fortitude, the presence, the appearance of humanity to smile a beautiful, sad smile. To press his fingers to Link’s jaw in a mockery of salvation.

 _“Link,”_ he murmured, sighed with something that wasn’t quite regret, wasn’t quite pity. It was fond, almost, and maybe - maybe apologetic. “Link, you precious, precious idiot,” he breathed and let his forehead rest against Link’s.

The fingers on Link’s jaw weren’t burning, weren’t condemning. They weren’t his salvation either, but Link could imagine that under other circumstances - under _most_ circumstances - Allen’s words would be accompanied by a bitterly wry smile for the mockery of reassurance that they were.

“We’re all going to Hell,” he whispered, and Link hated that he didn’t hate it when Allen kissed him sweet and consoling and condemning all in one.

Because it was then that Link realised that for Allen, damnation didn’t cost a thing.

“All of us,” Allen breathed against his lips, and the truth of it was written in the dull shame burning through the ashes of Link’s resolution to sanctity, the evidence of unholy pleasure he wore on his hands and shirt like brands of sin - his and Allen’s in equal parts, Link could no longer pretend otherwise.

Swallowing back the bile of shame and self-disgust Link thought, for a moment, that he might understand Allen.

One way or another, they were all going to Hell.

They’d all killed. They’d all sinned. Be it in the name of God, or a selfish moment of lustful weakness.

Allen, it seemed, was simply determined to enjoy what earthly pleasures he could on the way down. He held no illusion of the purity of his own soul.

So Link didn’t ask _why did you do this,_ and he didn’t ask _why did you do this to me,_ because he already knew why. Of course he did.

They were going to hell, he and Allen both, and the truth of it was written in Link’s quiet, destructive desire to put a hand to the back of Allen’s neck and bring his angel lips down for another kiss.


End file.
